The Cardeologist

You cut it out of my chest
like you are prying mother Theresa
from a crushed car using
the jaws of life. Somewhere
along the line, my heart

has grown to be more
valuable than I am, until
it can no longer be trusted
to beat inside such a cheap
shell. That’s where you come in

my dear, with your sterilized hands,
your face covered with that mask,
your hair tucked in beneath your cap.
That’s where you strip me naked,
rub in the alchahol in and shave
the place where you plan to make

the incision. The rib spreaders,
cold metal demonic spiders, have always
been a good friend to me, rip me open
take what’s worth it, replace my heart
of solid beating gold with a tin clock
to run my bag of bones.


Filed under Frustrations and Rants, lust and love, Musings, poetry

7 responses to “The Cardeologist

  1. Really good.
    Sent chills all up my spine, slynne.

  2. ooh i love the sound of the last few lines, that slant rhyme of gold and bones is great.

  3. Thank you, Z. Hopefully, your thoracic cavity is still zipped up tight, though.

    and Jessica, thank you so much. I
    ve always adored your work, so that you would leave such a comment means the world. (Especially as I’ve always had trouble with ending lines)

    PS, you should check out readwritepoem.

  4. polkadotwitch

    i read both pieces and i like the connection. it makes me think of something jillypoet introduced me to … that poets should identify their “constellation of images.” in a book called “word painting,” stanley kunitz talks about it. it’s about each writer’s individuality and the experiences that make them gravitate toward certain images and connections. at least that’s my understanding of it.

  5. Did you ever read Dana Levin’s book of poems In the Surgical Theatre? I feel like surely you did because she came to campus I think our sophomore year…Anyway, you should check her out if you haven’t because she likes to be all bloody and visceral with body images. I was just thinking about it because I seem to remember you writing something about not wanting all your poems to have the gory angle or not always going back to the same images but maybe if it works for you, you should explore it more?

    Also, been meaning to share the fact that I periodically search for Ron Abram on facebook and myspace because I secretly want him to be my long lost online friend but he is nowhere to be found….How sad…

    I guess this should have been an email instead of a comment 🙂

  6. That other poet I tried to tell you about in an email this morning Jessica: Jillian Wise, and her book is and Amputees Guide to Sex. Amazing stuff.

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